by Lynn Donovan
Yes! Well, maybe no. It’s just Chris is so sick now. And I worry.
Yes. I know. Faith signed. She bowed her head, reached out, and touched Grace’s wrist. In a too-loud-for-a-quiet-prayer, monotone voice, Faith prayed. Grace glanced around at the people who glared at them with curiosity. The smile on her face begged their tolerance for her sister’s loud intonations. She was not ashamed of her sister, but she wished she knew when her volume was too loud. Still her words were sweet, and they did feed Grace’s anxious mind. A spirit of peace washed over her, and she felt herself breathe a sigh of released tension. Faith lifted her face and said, “Amen.”
Grace said it too.
Faith squeezed her wrists before she released them. God knows best. Trust Him, she signed.
Grace forced a smile as she nodded. Her attention drifted to the people walking down the sidewalk mere inches from their table. A couple ambled by, pushing a stroller. A sleeping toddler’s foot draped over the side. Grace sighed and sipped her tea. She glanced at Faith whose attention was on a three-year-old girl a table over in a precious pink and white polka-dot sun dress. The girl’s thin, wispy hair was gathered into a pink hair-tie in the center of her crown. It looked like a little water fountain spewing from her head. The sight of the precious little girl made Grace smile. The mother stood to wipe her daughter’s ketchup-covered mouth. She, too, had a well-established baby bump.
Everybody’s pregnant but me. Grace sighed heavily and focused on her sister’s face.
So, what you up to? Grace signed and sat back to let her sister carry the conversation. She had to get her mind on something other than babies. Watching Faith describe her animated adventures restored her emotional well-being. She needed the laugh, and her sister always made her laugh.
Chapter Three
“Well, hello!” Pastor Barbara greeted Grace at the front door of the church. Her slow, Southern accent drew out the salutation. The afternoon air had cooled enough for a jacket. The weather was unpredictable from one hour to the next, especially in December in south Texas.
Grace stepped up behind her, staring at Barbara’s hands turning the over-burdened key ring. “Hi, Pastor.”
She chewed on the inside of her cheek, mentally rehearsing her already worn-out speech. She hated what she had to do. Not that she regretted her reasons for doing it. Chris meant more to her than any activity in church. It was just that she knew how the pastor would react. It had been Barbara who had asked her to start signing with the praise team. She would be disappointed to have Grace leave the team. She hated disappointing anybody, especially Pastor Barbara.
Barbara unlocked the doors and led the way to her office toward the back of the administrative area. “Come on in. You want a water or somethin’?”
“No, I’m good,” Grace said softly.
“Wonderful!” Barbara’s voice boomed in the empty silence. She rotated her shoulder to coax her heavy sweater off. It seemed to cling to her shimmering blouse. Eventually, she managed to move and shake her arm to get the sweater low enough so gravity could do the rest.
She blew an exasperated sigh and shoved wiry black hair back into place. Her keys rattled as she set them on the corner of her desk. Her milk-chocolate skin was moist from her efforts. She flapped the collar of her blouse to cool her skin.
Her eyes met Grace’s. “How’s Chris?”
“He’s…” Grace choked. “He’s not so good.” She could barely get the words out.
“Oh! Oh honey. I’m so sorry.” Barbara tossed the sweater at her chair, and then gathered Grace into her arms.
Grace leaned down to bury her face against Barbara’s shoulder and cried. The well-rehearsed speech escaped into a dark, hidden place in her mind.
Barbara patted Grace’s back while her tears flowed.
She had not intended to break down like this. There was something about Pastor Barbara that allowed Grace to be vulnerable, to let down her armor. “I’m sorry.”
Grace yanked a tissue from Barbara’s tissue box and wiped her eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall apart like that.”
“It’s all right. Burdens are not meant to be carried alone.” Barbara pulled a tissue from the box and dotted makeup-beaded perspiration from her forehead. Sincere empathy glazed her dark-brown eyes.
“Now, tell me. Why this meeting? You wantin’ ta take some time off ta spend with your hu-usband?” Barbara’s accent over emphasized the first syllable of the last word. Her unique pronunciation warmed Grace’s heart.
She nodded, her speech poking back into the lighted area of her memory. “Chris is so weak right now, Barbara. I need to spend more time with him. I’ve got to reduce my activities.”
Then her excellent speech fizzled away like an untied balloon. “I have two freelance contracts to wrap up, and then I’m going to hold off submitting anymore queries…for now. I’ve got some residuals to tie me over, and Chris has his disability.”
She just couldn’t stop herself. Her mouth had a mind of its own. “We don’t owe anything except our mortgage. We’ll be fine until…” The words stuck in her throat. She forced herself to continue even though her voice pitched from the constriction.
“I feel like I need to spend all my time making him as comfortable as possible.”
“Well, now, let’s not talk like that. Only the Good Lord knows our days. I understand, though. I’m sure you want to be with him as much as possible.” Barbara clung to Grace’s hand. “Have you prayed about this? We sure will miss your presence on the team, but we understand.”
“Yes. I’ve prayed ’till I’m blue in the face.” Grace stared at the ground and swallowed hard, trying not to cry. She couldn’t help but expose her frustration. Her faith was slipping through her fingers, and she knew it. Her armor had been completely discarded.
“Oh, Grace. Bless your heart. Let’s pray now.” Barbara took both of Grace’s hands and bowed her head. She prayed for strength, healing, and protection for her and Chris. She thanked God for His wisdom and perfect timing. Finally she asked it all in Jesus’s name, and they both said “Amen.”
Grace felt numb. Barbara’s prayers usually gave her such peace. It was the words perfect timing that caught in Grace’s heart. What if this was God’s perfect timing? It did not reassure her that Chris would make it through this.
Barbara squeezed Grace’s hands one last time and then released them.
“Thank you.” Grace sniffed. But she didn’t feel grateful.
Something stirred deep down in her gut. A longing, no, a need, to get to Chris. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Of course, God bless you.” Barbara drew her into another embrace, but Grace pulled away. The odd feeling intensified and curled around in her gut like a knot of snakes. She absolutely had to get home.
Chapter Four
“Chris, I’m home!” Grace called from the front door. Gut-wrenching silence greeted her. She tossed her keys at the glass bowl. They slid over its curved side and fell onto the entry table. She let her purse slip from her arm and fall to the floor, nearly tripping her as she pushed herself forward, into the house. The paperwork from the clinic was absently twisted in her moist grip. She tossed them at the table as well.
Where was Chris? She glanced through the living room toward the sun room. He usually sat in the white, wicker love seat against the straw-yellow wall where he was warm. Why wasn’t he there enjoying the flower gardens just outside the fixed glass? The air thickened, making her breath laborious to draw in. She felt like she was moving through water, with a current flowing against her. She had to find Chris.
She made her way toward the kitchen. His glass of Ensure sat untouched on the round, mocha dinette table. Her eyebrows knitted together as that odd feeling cinched tighter in her gut.
“Chris?” She glanced in the bathroom. Empty. Was he still in bed? Trepidation weighed down her legs as she climbed the stairs. The little hall to their room seemed to elongate. She could hardly move forward. Her breath increased, and moist beads oozed onto her forehead.
She licked her smooth lips.
“Chris?” she called more softly as she approached their bedroom. Her voice was tormented by fear. At last, she reached their door. It stood ajar, just like she had left it.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as she peered into the room. She grabbed the door frame to keep from collapsing.
Chris lay on his back, his lips were purple and his face was ash white. She stared at his chest. There was no movement, no rasping breath like this morning.
“No, no, no, no, no!” She ran to the bed and collapsed at its side. “Oh Chris…”
Her hands trembled as she touched his cheek. He was so cold. She pressed two fingers against his neck, but couldn’t feel a pulse. Where was the pulse? She shifted up and down his neck to feel different places. Was she doing it right?
Tears poured from her eyes. His living will demanded DNR, do not resuscitate, but she couldn’t abide by that now. She jumped to her feet and fumbled to interlace her fingers and push against his chest. He just bounced against the mattress. Pinching his nose, she tried to blow air into his lungs. She had no idea how to perform CPR. Why hadn’t she taken lessons?
Sobbing against his face, she blubbered, “Baby, baby, I’m so sorry.”
Help, she needed help. She yanked up the phone and dialed nine-one-one as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The dispatcher took all the information and assured her the EMS truck was on its way. Disconnecting, she lowered her head against her hand on his chest, and cried, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. Why? He believed in you! Why didn’t you heal him?”
Sorrow poured from her eyes, her heart, and her soul. Why had she left him alone? Nothing she did today was more important than him. She lay quietly on his chest. The silence surrounding her accentuated the empty emotions forming in her heart. The darkest of them all—he had died alone.
“Oh, Chris. I’m so sorry you were alone.” She raised her head, sniffed, and walked around to her side of their bed. Lifting one knee, she crawled into bed, and pressed up as close to him as she could and closed her eyes.
“I love you, more,” she whispered. “Please forgive me.”
Downstairs, the grandfather clock chimed the hour, but Grace ignored it. This was the last time she would hold her husband.
’Til death do us part. She twisted her wedding ring with the two adjacent fingers and rested her hand across his abdomen. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye. How could she ever be ready for such a thing? Tears trailed across the bridge of her nose and down her temple, wetting her hair. She sniffed and drew in a deep breath.
Someone beat on the front door, and the doorbell rang, repeatedly.
She forced herself up, wiped her nose, and then the side of her face with her hand. She dragged her fingers through her long bangs, pushing them back over the crown of her head. Lifting two fingers to her lips, she kissed them and touched his cold mouth. “Goodbye, baby. I’ll always love you.”
As she descended the stairs, her knees felt like metal joints needing lubrication. Each riser challenged her progress. She opened the front door and stared at the three people covered in navy-blue suits.
The paramedics pushed past her. She pointed up stairs and followed them to where Chris laid. They shouted questions at her, and she answered absently. Resuscitation halted when she mumbled he had a living will.
“Does he want to be resuscitated?” one of them demanded.
She stared into their anxious eyes. Her lips trembled as she tried to form the word. “…No.”
Their frantic movements slowed, and the younger-looking male called time of death. The blonde, slender woman wrote something on a clipboard, and the three prepared Chris for transport. The woman slipped a card in Grace’s hand and asked if she was all right.
What an asinine question.
Grace pressed her head against the front door after she closed it and listened to the EMS truck take Chris away. God’s perfect timing resonated in her mind.
“Your perfect timing sucks, just so you know!”
Chapter Five
For weeks after Chris’s funeral, Grace received cards and letters. “The service was lovely,” “you were so strong,” “we will be praying for you,” “Chris is in a better place,” and on and on the written notes of condolences stated. But no one came by. The cut flower arrangements withered, turned brown, and eventually dried up, but no one called. Oh, they had all attended the funeral, even spoke of taking her to lunch in the next few weeks. But no one followed through.
It was too hard to face a young grieving widow. It was easier to send a benign note, than actually face her in person, cry with her in person.
She’d had only one visitor, an insurance agent. He expressed his condolences and explained a direct deposit was arranged for Chris’s life insurance benefits. She signed some papers where the man marked an “X,” and watched him scurry out her front door. She never heard from him again.
If it had not been for Faith and her mother, she would have become an absolute recluse. But Faith wouldn’t have it. She came by, beating on Grace’s door, two or three times a week. Grace had no choice; when her sister put her mind to something, she wouldn’t let go of the idea. She would force her way into Grace’s fog of grief.
Faith would physically put her in the shower, dry her hair, select clean clothes, and shove them at her to wear. She would put Grace in her car and take her to a restaurant. Her sister ordered the meal for them both by pointing to the selection on the menu and the waitress or waiter wrote it all down. Grace tried to smile. She was certain the wait-staff figured she was deaf, too. But she didn’t care what they thought. The food tasted like cardboard anyway. She never finished a single meal.
Her mother was less aggressive, but she did come by at least once a week. She’d clean Grace’s kitchen, empty the trash, run the vacuum, pull sheets off her bed, and wash two or three loads of laundry, all while chatting endlessly about God-only-knew-what, because Grace wasn’t listening. She’d sit at the table and drink the coffee or tea her mom prepared. She’d eat the food she put in front of her, not tasting anything.
When a new month began, her mom and Faith would sit at the table with her and put bills in front of her. Her mom would make out the check and Grace would sign them. Faith tore the stub and placed it and the check in the envelope. Somehow it all got mailed. Her electricity stayed on, and her phone still worked.
Soon, the weather changed. It became warmer so she switched off her central heat and pushed open some windows. The air smelled fresh and sweet. The trees began to bud and the brown grass faded into green.
One day, Faith stopped by and loaded Grace into her car. She parked in front of a clinic and pulled Grace into a long corridor. The pungent smell of cleaning solvent assaulted her senses. Faith pushed her through a wooden door with a rectangular brass plate at eye level displaying the name, Dr. Karen Rains, PhD. The softly lit office with plush furnishings produced a quiet sense of peace in Grace’s heart.
Faith sat her down and went to the glass window. She wrote on a piece of paper and handed it to the lady behind the sliding pane. Soon, a woman came from behind another wooden door and called Grace’s name. Faith pulled on her elbow and made her follow the lady. Her sister sat with her on a long couch while this lady, in a two piece suit, talked to her about Chris, his death, her job, sign language, the weather changing, and other stuff that meant nothing to Grace. She answered robotically. The woman wrote things down on a notepad as if any of her words were important.
The next week, Faith took her again, and the next and the next. Eventually, she recognized the day of the week for the therapist’s appointment and dressed herself. While she waited for Faith to arrive, she ran the vacuum cleaner and dusted the furniture. Before long, she drove herself to visit Dr. Rains. She cleaned her house before her mother came over, and started preparing finger sandwiches for them to eat while they visited.
Thoughts of Chris drowned her at night, but during the day, she began to breathe a little bet
ter.
Previous clients began to call for freelance work and she accepted a contract to ghostwrite a client’s memoirs. She functioned, little more.
Spring became summer. Summer became fall. Autumn set in with its fiery transition in the leaves, pumpkin decorations lined the neighbor’s porches, and wreaths hung on their doors. Thanksgiving was celebrated at her mother’s and somewhere in there, Christmas passed, although she had little memory of it. After the New Year, a small glow began to burn in her heart.
Chris and his desire to have a child became her desire to have his child. It was still possible. But, was it wrong to want to have her dead husband’s child a year after his death? The idea didn’t feel wrong. In fact, it felt right. It felt, warm. The idea made Chris not seem so…gone. His child, growing in her womb, would bring a part of him back to her. It would give her something of him to hold, to love. The small ember of hope grew little by little each day. Should she talk to Dr. Rains about this idea? Or should she go straight to Dr. G? Should she talk to her mother? Or Faith?
Surely they’d be on board. They, above anybody else, knew how much she missed Chris. She called her mother and texted her sister, inviting them for brunch. She’d talk to them about it. But whether they agreed or not, this was what she was going to do. Chris had banked his seed for this very purpose. There was no reason to let his final efforts sit frozen, suspended forever, when a child could be waiting to be formed and carried and delivered into this world.
A spark of excitement effervesced in Grace’s heart. This was the answer she had been searching for, even though she didn’t even realize she’d been searching at all.
A child would bring her back to life.
Chapter Six
Two years later…
Grace stared at her fertility chart, the beta-temp thermometer protruding from her lips. She craved her one cup of coffee but forced herself to be still until the thermometer beeped. Her mind scanned an internal To-Do list. Let’s see. I need coffee, butter, hmm…chicken breasts. I’ll grill the whole package and freeze them. Salad mix. I can cut up the chicken breast for dinner tonight. What else…?